To whom it may concern, for those willing to listen and the few, who has nothingbetter to do, i’d like to tell a story. The whole ordeal started an early morning,just about 7 a.m.I noticed nothing strange, as I got out of bed. It was a smallbedroom, with just enough place for me to work, thorughout the day. Afterbooting up my computer, so it would be ready for later, I went to the kitchen.The kitchen is small, with just enough room for one man, but that’s okay. Ialways cook. I always start my morning making the same discount coffe. Itmakes the early day easier. With the coffe in my hand, i go to the bathroom.The coffe also makes this easier. Flush out the body, and the events of thepreivous day. For my next ritual, I wander in to the livingroom, trying collecetthe last pieces of myself, so the day can finally start. I always end up sittingin the same chair. A comfy chair no one ever really uses, since it isn’t thatcomfortable. But once it was all I had. So I’m used to it, and it had a nostalgicfeeling to it. I slowly wake up. It’s going better than normal, better thanexpected. Yesterday was a late night.

2 She and I

She didn’t even notice me, when I arrived home, late at night. I, however,notice the cliking sound. The noice from the bedroom. The commotion shelikes to wake up to. I am mildly annoyed. She was a black magic woman, withbleached hair. Her lips was big, lovely for a kiss, amongst other things. Hercheaks was round like an apple. She had shapes, like a natural woman. A bitextra kilos, but that never bothered me. Her eyes were brown, but they neverreally captured my attention. I never got lost in them. As I sit there, and thinkof her, my mind starts to wander, as the noicy cliking becomes a meditativeinspiration, instead of an annoyance. My eyes wander through the room, as Inotice things I have never noticed before. A black spot on the ceiling right bythe corner. A red light from the sun, on an ugly painting of a human being, mymother gave me. A dying plant, beyond saving. A few spider webs, danglingaround. The dust became noticeable, because of the sun. A letter on the table,I inherited from my grandfather. I start to become a part of the room, as the clicking goes on. My sense of being disappears. The clicking stops. I start toexist again. I started to wonder about the letter. I move towards the table. Ilook in the letter. It’s from her. It’s over. Almost soundless I whisper ”It can’tbe real, wake up”, as im softly wacking myself, with a banana, that was lyingin the fruit ball she made. It was the only thing of hers in the apartment. Shecould take ownership of it all, it wouldn’t matter. All I want is the love of mylife to come back, so I can see her one last time. So I can say goodbye. So wecan part ways in a proper way. Next to the letter there is a carving. It says ”Iloved you. Never forget that”.

3 Her, she and I

Days have passed, and I can’t seem to get myself out of my head. I can’t takeit anymore. I go to the local pub, to do the one thing, i promised myself not todo: Buy one pint. One pint, that leads to another. The spiral starts. I’ve beento the pub pleanty of times before, but never alone. Being alone at a pub is adangoures game. You, alone with only the alcohol. You, alone with your ownthoughs, that get worse and worse for each sip, you let through your body. Anda cat that the pub has claimed ownership of. A women with a stripe on hereface, starts singing in the back of the room, as she slowly dances, with out myknowlagde, closer and closer, sexy as can be seducing every man in the room. Ilight a cigarette, even though I already have one. It’s almost done, I say to myself, and my glance becomes split, as I for a shot moment see it as 4 ciggaretslying next to eachother. The woman is comming closer, and I start to noticeher singing. I suits me. I slowly move in a 180 degrees movement, and smell afragrance so delightful, it cancels out all my other senses, for a shot moment. Isee her. my senses are again canceled out, by the sight of her. She’s standingthere. A completly pale body, that hasn’t seen sunlight in ages. Black hair,that incapters the light, and gives of a special glow. Her essence is sexy, but yetso classy. Her eyes. Oh her eyes. Soft, smiling but yet direkt and cold. Likean ocean, where a sailer could get lost, but somewhere, out there, somethingis worth dying for. Her mouth was smiling, like there where a seacret on herlips. A soft smile. But a trained one, that can be givin even at a funeral. Herface collects all of her facial expressions in to one. I don’t remember her bodyat all, maybe beacuse of the alcohol or maybe because of her captivating face.This woman has already forfilled my needs, with just a song, and a mesmerisingstribed face. What a woman.

4 Them, her, she, and I

As I sit at the bar talking, while she’s sitting there listening, my mind slowlyforgets about my loved one, as the monolog becomes more and more about mypassion than my sorrow, as im slurping my way through pints upon pints. It islike the only sense I have, is the ability to talk. I have a connection with this human being, that I have never experienced before. After awhile, she surgests amove of surroundings. I agree instantly. Where ever she wants to go. We walkthrough the town. The town is like any other. Shops, pubs, and streetlights. Aswe walk in the cold winter wheather, with new snow slowly faling beautifullyfrom the sky, and laying atop of the roads as a blanket, she starts to sing. Aspellbinding song. A song of a siren. I can’t think or talk or see. I can onlylisten, as all my other senses slowly fades away. My body goes to autopilot.I just walk, and she leads me with her voice. She stops singing. We stop. Istart existing again. It’s a hosue. The house is painted with graffiti. Waves,splassing togehter and boats cracking, sinking into the deapths of the unknownwater. There is a piece of wood, from what appears to be from an old boat.The piece of wood tells me, that the house is called Odysseen. She takes meinside. The song that she is singing, becomes plural. The voices brings me intothe livingroom, where there are anchors, rudders and ropes on the walls anda small fireplace crackles a rythem, as the clicking noise, from her bedroom.There are 13 women, all singing and slowly dancing. They all have the samecaptivating glance in there eyes, as the woman who lead me here. They all havethe same pale color of skin, black hair and a stripe on their face. They all lookso different, and yet, so alike. They place me in a chair. So comfortable. I havenever experienced something like it. They gather around me, still singing anddancing. Slowly they start touching, caressing and massaging me. I close myeyes, and my sense of touch slowly returns. This must be heaven.

5 You, them, her, she, and I

Some bealive that before you go to hell, you need first to experience heaven, soyou know the difference between the two. So you know you have it better orworse. As I sit there, slowly drifting to a dream state, becoming one with theroom. They stop singing. The song has endend. They drag me out of the chair,as it was like I couldn’t move. I can’t move. I can stand, but my body is numb.I start thinking of her. I start to miss her again. Sorrow fills my eyes. The 13women look at the woman who lead me here, with a disappointing look in theirfaces. It’s the same face she gave me, the night before she left. I hold my headclear. I don’t know what’s going on anymore. Or where I am. I slowly startto go crazy. I feel like going, but I still can’t move. They start singing again.I try to fight it, but the trance slowly starts to come back. I’m one with theroom. I’m an object. I can move again, but only where and when they wantto move me. They feed me with food. The best tasting food I’ve ever tried.My tastebuds overtakes my body. I only sense the bits danicing on my tongue.They strip me down, from top to tow. I let them. As a sexual journy is about tostart, they stop singing again. The sexual experience is soundless. It’s amazing.With closed eyes, it becomes so intence. They stop. For a short while, im back,wondering what is going to happen. They start singing again. I am in theirpower. They move me outside. Through the streets. There isn’t soul in ourpath. There are no lights in any of the houses. The lights from the sky, is so pleasent, like the sun is shining in the darkness. It has stoped snowing. Everyfootstep I take, should ruin the beautifull snow blanket. But nothing happens.The snow stays intakt. We get closer to the towns river. On the river thereis a flume floating. Nothing but the flume. We board the flume. The waterwas frozen. The flume was stuck. The singing intensified. I am now free. Freeto move. But I don’t want to get off the flume. It’s like im keeping myself incaptivity. As I stand on the very eadge of the flume, looking at the ice, it slowlystarts to melt. It seems as if the song is making the ice melt. Slowly a hole isforming. A hole in the ice. They finish what they started in the bed. Againsoundless. As im stiped naked, I suddenly I start walking slowly thowards thehole in the ice, without resisting, just moving slowly. I jump in. It’s warm,comforting yet terrifying. The singing stops. I see the women leaving. I tryto swim, but my movement hasn’t come back. Im drowning. Suddenly a handappers. It grabs me, and pulls me out of the water. It is you.